


truth exists for the wise, beauty for the feeling heart

by MistressKat



Series: The Unicorn [2]
Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Crack, M/M, Pre-Slash, Unicorns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-30
Updated: 2010-01-30
Packaged: 2017-10-06 20:40:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistressKat/pseuds/MistressKat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack and the Doctor get drunk and some things are not talked about. Except the unicorn. Which is mentioned a lot and used as a metaphor for those very same things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	truth exists for the wise, beauty for the feeling heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lolabobs](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=lolabobs).



> Written for [lolabobs](http://lolabobs.livejournal.com/) as a thank you for her generosity. The title is a quote by Johann Von Schiller. Beta by the fabulous [nightbeast](http://nightbeast.livejournal.com/) who helped me get the details right.

The thing is Jack doesn’t like unicorns.

“The… The _thing_ ish.” He leans across the table, forefinger extended. “I... _I_ don’t like unicorns. They’re too pretty. And, and, _sparkly_.” He shudders a bit. 

The Doctor stares at him, stares at the digit waving in front of his face, and then at him again. “That’s… ridiculoush.” He knocks Jack’s finger to the side at the back of his hand, sending two of the several empty bottles tumbling to the ground. “And ille… illogago… illogical.”

Jack slumps back in his chair, giving the Doctor’s counterargument his full attention. Well. What’s left of it anyway. 

He reaches for the glass of murky blue liquid, managing to grab it on the third attempt, which all things considered is pretty damn impressive. On the other side of the table the Doctor is doing something with his tie, though Jack can’t for the life of him (or should that be _lives__?_) tell whether he’s trying to take it off or put it back on. He rather hopes it’s the former.

They’re both royally drunk. Thanks to his freaky new healing abilities it takes Jack some serious effort to get this wasted but by god after the day they’ve had he’s willing to work for it. Even if their current choice of drink tastes a lot like Thai chicken soup. 

Jack hadn’t been sure whether Doctor could, in fact, get drunk at all, but when questioned he’d only grinned madly. “It’s not impossible,” he’d said. “Just… tricky.” Which was alright, as Jack and tricky were old acquaintances.

It had seemed, however, that no matter how well they had gotten on in the past, it was nothing compared to the obviously deep and meaningful relationship the other man enjoyed with the concept. Jack had spent the first hour of their epic quest for drunken stupor inhaling as much alcohol as humanly possible and watching the Doctor do something akin to graduate level chemistry with his drinks. He’s still not entirely sure what the yellow powder was for or why it was necessary to measure the liquid intake using a system that, as far as Jack knows, and that’s frankly pretty fucking far, hasn’t been invented yet. 

It had taken a couple of hours of concentrated effort to get to the state where they now comfortably reside. After a while the Doctor had put away his miniature chemistry set, although he still kept licking at the inside of his own elbow periodically. Jack doesn’t exactly feel like complaining about that.

He fights the urge to reach over and take a quick, no a _long_, slow, taste himself, and orders another round instead. Christ, he misses bourbon, and margaritas. And Screaming Orgasms. The cocktail that is. He can get the other kind whenever, wherever, with whome- 

“There’sh much more to unicornsh than blue eyes and…” The Doctor sketches something in the air that looks vaguely obscene “…wavy mane.” Lurching to his feet, he catches the passing waiter by the tentacle and makes a grab for their drinks. He weaves around the table, garish pink tie hanging from his fingers, vest undone and the dress shirt halfway there, finally coming to rest behind Jack’s chair.

“Never,” the Doctor whispers, bending down low over Jack’s shoulder and pressing the cool bottle into his hand, the condensation making their fingers slipslide and tangle briefly. “_Never_ underestimate something just because they’re pretty to look at.” 

For a second or two Jack can’t even breathe, the air lodging itself somewhere at the back of his throat like a fist. Then he hears a low chuckle in his ear, barely audible over the rush of blood heading south, and that’s all she wrote, because goddamn Jack is done with this dive and done with being toyed with and so fucking done with unicorns that there won’t be nothing but hoof prints left by the time-

He drops the bottle on the table, flinging some money in five different currencies after it, and stands up. 

“You…” He turns to the Doctor who is still laughing, his whole face alight with mirth and damn right Jack’s not going to underestimate that. “…need to sleep this off.”

He snatches the other man by the collar and drags him outside onto the dark empty street. Jack can’t remember which planet they’re on, but it’s cold and windy and the light green snow flakes clash horribly with, well, everything. 

The Doctor shivers a bit as the icy air hits them full on. Without thinking about it Jack tucks him under his arm, where this new version of his friend fits much better than the old one. In fact…

Jack considers the relevant dimensions briefly, before bending at the waist and lifting his companion in a sloppy fireman’s carry. 

“You three-legged Tarkasigan Hog! Let me down this ins-” There’s an indignant squeal that clearly doesn’t get much use, as Jack twirls around a bit just to see if he can before heading toward home.

Luckily the TARDIS isn’t too far off. Despite his new lighter frame, the Doctor’s still a fully-grown man, Time Lord, whatever. And damn if those knees aren’t bony. 

Jack sets him to the ground in front of the blue police box. The Doctor huffs irritably, but there’s a distinct undercurrent of amusement in his voice so Jack’s not worried. He’s rarely worried at all nowadays. Except about that goddamn unicorn.

The lime green snow is settling on them and Jack takes his time dusting it off. He runs a hand through the wild tuft of the Doctor’s hair, fingers coming away slightly sticky. “What, you use hair-gel now?” 

The Doctor shrugs, smirking lopsidedly. “You wouldn’t want to see me without it. Trust me. Not pretty.”

Jack raises his eyebrows in acknowledgement, hands skimming the too small ears, trailing down the too narrow chest and it’s all so different; waist too thin, skin paler than he remembers, hips sharp and slinky, fitting into his palms like they were custom made. 

And despite everything he’s not sure yet whether he likes it or not. Except the pinstripes. Because Jack sure is appreciating those. He feels his face settle into a friendly leer as he lets his eyes linger on the perfect cut of the Doctor’s suit trousers.

“Jack,” the Doctor says, and he’s hardly slurring anymore at all. His eyes are kind of sad, thousand shades of universe swirling in their depths. “Don’t start this again.” 

Jack brings his hands up to cup the Doctor’s face, tilting it backwards. “I never stopped.”

They stay like that for a long time, breaths mingling, while Jack gives some serious thought to kissing.  The Doctor waits him out, patient and still, fingers circling Jack’s wrists lightly. It’s kind of perfect and neither of them are that drunk anymore and really, the only thing missing is violin music on the background. 

Jack feels a smile tugging at his own lips at the same time as the Doctor breaks their gaze, forehead dropping to Jack’s shoulder. Soon they’re both laughing like crazy, heads thrown back and shaking with hilarity.

He reckons it’ll happen eventually, somewhere less perfect, and probably at some highly inconvenient moment when they’re running for their lives and covered in slime. And the crazy thing is, Jack’s more than okay with that. 

The Doctor loops and easy arm around Jack’s middle, producing a key from somewhere with a flourish and opening the door. They step into the TARDIS, the smell of burnt circuits and fresh hay oddly welcoming.

It’s twilight inside the main chamber, like always, but this time it’s broken by more than the steady golden pulse of the Heart. A white glow radiates from around the corner, and Jack finds himself inexorably drawn toward it, finally coming to a stop behind one of the pillars, currently bearing a striking resemblance to a young maple tree. He’s pretty sure there’s bashful vine of pale pink flowers creeping up around the walls, but he refuses to look too closely. 

In the middle of the room, grazing peacefully, its long silvery tail swishing every now and then, is a huge unicorn. It regards them silently for a few heartbeats before flicking its ears and blowing air through its nostrils. It’s quite possibly the most beautiful thing in the universe and as out of place and time as the other occupants of the TARDIS.

“We’re not keeping it,” Jack says, voice wavering. 

The Doctor bumps their shoulders together, hands in his pockets, smile not quite happy but not really sad either. “No, not forever. But for a little while. They’re good for more than decoration. You’ll see.”

Jack sighs, not quite convinced, but willing to give it a chance. After all, it’s not the biggest leap of faith he’s taken lately. Not by far.


End file.
